


Thorne-blessed

by fish_wifey



Series: Witch Business [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Getting Together, Kissing, M/M, Magical Realism, Magical Tattoos, Tattoo artist Kyoutani, Witchcraft, Witches, artist Yahaba, no volleyballs, tattoo artist/artist, they don't know each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:40:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21931618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fish_wifey/pseuds/fish_wifey
Summary: Kyoutani is a tattoo artist and also a witch that offers special services with the ink. When an unlikely customer walks in his parlour, he doesn't have a clue at who Fate actually brought in today.Yahaba is a struggling artist in university. When he decides to get one tattoo, Fate brings him to a guy who can help him in so many more ways.
Relationships: Kyoutani Kentarou/Yahaba Shigeru
Series: Witch Business [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1579402
Comments: 14
Kudos: 154
Collections: Haikyuu Secret Santa 2019





	1. The Clawed

**Author's Note:**

> My secret santa gift for Monk!! When I saw kyouyaha I knew I had to write my boys again, it's been too long!! It's also hilarious how you AND the person who gave me a gift both had kyouyaha as well QWQ
> 
> The title, funnily enough, is inspired by a character’s last name being Dorneblessed (?spelling?) in the DnD High Roller’s campaign. Plus, I think there’s always a certain theme with how I write KyouYaha and the titles I pick for them.
> 
> On that note, mother of christ it’s been forever that I wrote kyouyaha. At numerous points in this fic I honest to god connected to Bokuto’s ‘how do I hit a cross again!?’ Then I whined to a friend and boom, out came that fluid writing.
> 
> Modern magic and magical tattoos are like, my home-trope of sorts. It’s crazy how I never wrote kyouyaha in an au setting before~
> 
> Please enjoy!

Steam comes off a cup of tea, reaching to the ceiling where the dust of dreams and creation mingle back and forth. Leaning back in his chair, feet on the table in front of him, Kentarou stares up. Grey dust sparkles silver, and brownish dust has glittering gold. With a tilt of his chin, he draws with the steam from the tea cup, adding lines where at first were only loose colours and shapeless matter. Daydreaming art is just a minor part of his craft, and Kentarou couldn’t ever use it for designs. The ceiling only gathers his initial ideas and designs, as his tea steeps and cools off.

The first door of his shop opens, a frog at the entrance croaking at the visitor. On his chair, Kentarou swivels to the side, allowing him to take a peek at whoever comes through the second door. Eyebrows furrowing at the hairstyle and dress choice, Kentarou admits that he’s intrigued. The cautious guy entering his store with careful steps after being croaked at and having a welcome dust spray over his hair looks around with restraint curiosity. A hand goes up to the neat-looking hair.

A prep if Kentarou ever saw one. Not the usual type to come in.

“Hey,” he calls out, drawing the visitor’s attention to himself. Round eyes gaze towards Kentarou, who doesn’t move his feet an inch from the table. A thought emits from his bleached hair, quickly shooting off into the void of dust far above. “How can I help you?”

“Hi, I saw your account online. You are KyouKen, correct?” The guest says, standing a good distance away and letting his voice rise a bit in cadence and loudness.

“The one and only.”

“Sole proprietor and artist in this establishment called The Clawed?”

“Just little me, yeah,” Kentarou says, still leaning back in his chair as if this couldn’t possibly be a client. The guy looked like the youngest account Sendai allowed into its strict ranks. The clothes he wore were a bit too casual though. Light jeans, ends folded up, showing off little pink socks and black Oxford shoes. A roll-neck, woolly and comfortable-looking. And above all a beige coat, looking far too big on him. 

It’s like the coat is part of the armour. Cozy and warm. The guy who wears it looks anything but; he brought in a cold breeze, a hint of biting fresh air. Crisp and clean, like the person himself, Kentarou feels this inhibited coldness come too, like an early snowfall. Flakey, perfect if it stays, able to be soft and hard if it wants to be. It’s not as if Kentarou is prone to such whimsical connections, but the guy in his shop has this sort of effect on him.

The guest takes a small step forward, eyes glancing back to the entrance. “What was the uh, welcome for? Was it meant to be welcoming?”

“The frog croaks at people without ill-intentions, and the spray is a blessing for all visitors as a thank you for coming in. My place has several charms in place, all in good-will. It’s mostly harmless.” What the croak would do to those who bring ill-will, Kentarou keeps to himself.

“Mostly?” The guy says, his feet halting. Kentarou flashes a grin.

“The most dangerous thing in it should be me, yes.”

The boy, stepping closer and his age seemingly near Kentarou’s own, if not the same, retrieves a piece of paper from his large coat’s pockets. The content has Kentarou sitting upright to inspect it, his feet finally returning to the floor. His tea slightly forgotten, Kentarou doesn’t care to offer any to this possible client. He takes the piece of paper, staring at a very simplistic drawing. Line-art only shows a stylistic, smiling bee on a flower.

Kentarou’s eyes glance up. Stranger and stranger still. He feels wariness coming off in waves, a mind guarding itself, the body ready for impact. Kentarou knew this behaviour all too well. Despite his look and occupations, it seems a bit overboard for first interaction to be this scared.

“Did you draw this?”

“Yes. I’m not—I made it simple because I don’t actually want my own drawings on my skin. But it’s a uh, basic sketch of what I would like you to draw for me. To ink on me, I guess I should say.” The boy’s name isn’t anywhere on the drawing itself, which figures. So Kentarou folds, and asks him.

“My name…Why would you need to know it?”

 _Weird_. “I register all clients’ names, age, tattoo design, time spent, etc. It’s for the books, for record-keeping. Don’t worry, I am not the type to use your name in a Dark way,” Kentarou laughs, thinking of the crows up north, who could wield those powers. “And certainly am I not interested in harming a client.”

“Hmm, fine. Yahaba Shigeru.” He says it like a challenge, and Kentarou watches with even more intrigue as pieces of the light brown hair curl up. Cow-licks, the tiniest ones. No magic at work. Kentarou sends out a wave from his spirit, and confirms it. Yahaba isn’t magical.

“Right. So, Yahaba. What’s the supposed placement of this? Do you want the design to be sort of this size?”

Yahaba clearly gives him a strange look at the lack of a suffix, or even polite speech. Despite it, he rolls up the sleeve of his coat, which is wide. He shows his wrist to Kentarou. “Here. And yes, I want it like that, but no larger.”

Kentarou didn’t use his power to scry for physical body modifications, so he has to ask.

“And it’s your first tattoo?”

“Yes. What of it?” Yahaba asks in a cocky way. As if he expected this question to come, but doesn’t want to look uncool. This guy isn’t warming up to Kentarou. Not that he intends to be a warm and welcoming person in the first place.

Kentarou shrugs. “Bold move. Hope your pain level can handle it. And that you’re not ticklish.”

“What has ticklishness got to do with anything!?” Yahaba is blushing now, his stance more forward, more challenging. Gone is most of the wariness, most of the personal inner guarding. The blush, Kentarou can’t help but think, kinda suits him. He kinda looks cute. Thoughts of it add to the swirling dust above, hidden to the unknown and initiated.

“You will see soon enough. Don’t worry. I’ve got an iron-grip,” Kentarou says, flexing his hand. He reaches for the open dayplanner on his desk, willing a pen to fly from wherever he left it into his hand. “If soon is what you want. I’m not busy right now, so the new design can be done by tonight. The day after tomorrow and the weekend are both free, so you can choose when’s a good time for you.”

He shows the week to Yahaba, not worrying about business integrity.

“I can make both work, after 5 pm. That is,” Yahaba looks on the days of the week as if he sees so much more than appointments and Kentarou’s personal checklist strewn across. “How long would it take? I don’t want colour.”

“Line-art only… I will make a couple designs, and it depends. Shouldn’t take longer than 3 hours though, even if you choose something intricate,” Kentarou says, picking up a form for Yahaba to fill in. Basic name and address knowledge and the like. “The designs will come with different prices, and once we agree on one, I require payment up front before I start working on your skin.”

As Yahaba fills in the form, he puts down his backpack. Kentarou didn’t see it before. There are large brushes sticking out at the top of the bag. Kentarou looks at the buttons the bag has on the front. Senseless things to his mind. He figures the guy is from the nearby art school. The closest one, Kentarou knows, is pretty prestigious and expensive. He knows because he decided against the stuffy school and took on an apprenticeship with a tattoo artist first.

Kentarou takes the form, and he makes a note on top ‘After 5 pm’. Putting form and paper on the desk, the pen keeps writing on it.

“I’ll text you when I have the designs ready and you can come in whenever to look at them. If I’m working, I’ll hand the designs to you to look over by yourself. Deal?”

“Sure,” Yahaba agrees, eyes looking to the desk where the pen lies down by itself. There must be more on his mind, more to say. Instead, Yahaba says ‘sure’ one more time, then takes up his bag. He takes out his phone from another pocket. “I have the number from the website, but it doesn’t mention your real name anywhere.”

“Kyoutani,” Kentarou says, finding it odd that his artist name wouldn’t suffice for this. Intriguing. He watches Yahaba nod and say ‘sure’ once more, then leave without using his phone after all. He leaves the way he came, looking up at the mini hallway between the doors. No spray comes down, and the frog remains silent to those he already has checked on their welcome.

Kentarou picks up the drawing from the form, sipping at his lukewarm tea. He feels his eyes become dry as more and more of the dust above swirls around. He leaves the ceiling to its own, to calm itself down without Kentarou getting lost in it. Instead, he loses himself to work. A bee on a flower, ranging from the simple designs to very advanced once. He hopes Yahaba will choose the simple line art one, closest to his own drawing. For his own, first-tattoo’s sake.

When he’s done with all, after two clients and a couple of more drawings, Kentarou speaks for all doors to close and lock. He lets the lights of his shop dim, all shutting off in the front, and only leaving a couple on where he sits. Above, the dust sways, and he finds himself staring at it once again. Brown and gold mix to beige, adding pink. Round eyes, neat hair, and caution running deep like the abyss. Kentarou stares, as he forgets his tea once again.

*

*

They said online that the wrist is one of the places where the human skin is thin, and so tattoos there would hurt more. Even knowing it didn’t prepare Shigeru. He winces under Kyoutani’s hard grip, as the needle inks black under his skin. It hurts a lot, and Shigeru knows his face doesn’t look attractive as he crunches it. He looks away from Kyoutani, who wears a surgical mask over his mouth, has same-coloured gloves on his hand. Luckily for Shigeru, it’s in Kyoutani’s job description to look down and concentrate.

When the top of the tattoo reaches closer to Shigeru’s palm, the pain becomes unbearable. He breathes loudly through his nose, attempting to calm himself down and not look so foolish. Shigeru wanted this for years. Finally able to afford tattoos and being of age, he’s put it off long enough. Finding the right person had been hard. He still doesn’t understand why he chose this guy. Something about the KyouKen art on the website had been so alluring.

Getting the actual ink done was certainly not.

Kyoutani pauses. Shigeru looks down, watching him wipe blood and excess ink away from the skin. Then the surgical masks comes down over the chin, and Kyoutani leans forward.

In one absolutely crazy second, Shigeru thinks Kyoutani is going to kiss the work in progress. Instead, Kyoutani whispers. Shigeru has researched what his kind could do, and recognizes the enchantment for peace of mind. It comes over Shigeru like a warm blanket in the cold, a friendly hug that lasts long, the feel of the first cup of coffee in the morning. He relaxes, even though the pain doesn’t become any less. It feels less present, less intrusive. Shigeru thanks Kyoutani, who nods as he quickly pulls his mask back up again to go back to work.

“So uh, your website and social media,” Shigeru starts, thinking it’s suddenly harder to bring it up now instead of the first time he’d come in here. The frog had barked at him again at the entrance, and the spray he got thankfully didn’t mess with his hair. Breathing out, Shigeru continues.

“It mentioned, uhm. You’re a wizard?”

“Witch.”

“Ah, a male witch?”

“ _No_ , just witch.”

Shigeru raises his eyebrows at the unseeing Kyoutani, who looks up at him, lifting the needle off the skin as he talks.

“It’s normal, okay!? The greatest magical users I know are all women, and they’re witches. My mother was a witch, my grandmother and aunts are witches. My great-gran also was a witch. And so, _I am_ a witch.”

Shigeru cannot raise his eyebrows any higher, but he would have if he could. “I see. That’s impressive. Are you the only boy in the household?” He skirts around the ‘was’ in the sentences, finding passed-away relatives too heavy to mention right now.

“Yes, what about it? All these guys out there who don’t know how to cook and take care of ‘emselves are disgraceful. I was taught anything. What about it?” The second time Kyoutani asks is less agitated. He looks down again and continues inking. Shigeru follows the needle, as Kyoutani moves it.

“No, nothing. I was raised by two moms and my sisters, so I know all about it. The cooking stuff, though, I’m not so good at…”

Kyoutani humpfs. “Cooking takes a shitload of time. Find your flow in it, mixing herbs and spice, knowing what goes together and what not. I’m no good at folding shit.”

“What, clothes and linen? God, I love using the steam-iron and then folding it all neatly. Looks so much better in the wardrobe,” Shigeru says, instantly conscious of how excited he sounds. How lame. He doesn’t retract his statement as he hears Kyoutani’s soft ‘impressive’. They keep talking about growing up surrounded by women. Shigeru learns that like himself, Kyoutani lives on his own.

And that his mother and grandmother both live, but use their powers way less.

“My gran gave some of hers to my mom. And my mom decided that instead of teaching me how to cook a fucking egg right, I’d be more blessed with her powers.”

“Didn’t you…have them from the beginning, then? Being witch-born, I thought it was always there.”

Kyoutani doesn’t say anything for a while, and Shigeru doesn’t prod him. He looks so calm in this moment, the once-angry-looking eyes a whole bunch softer. Inward. Until Kyoutani answers the question.

“Some are born with less than others. My abilities were like soft snowfall, snow that didn’t stick. I could float a feather, but never a rock. My mom wanted me to strong so—” Kyoutani stops abruptly, a blush appearing on his ears, as far as Shigeru can see. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter how I got it or why or from whom.”

Shigeru looks away, thinking he might have taken it too far, stepped on Kyoutani’s toes. The conversation had gotten quite deep without him intending it to be.

“Done.”

“H-huh, what?” Shigeru looks down again. Kyoutani turns off the machine, puts away the needle. Then he cleans up Shigeru’s wrist from any excess ink.

“Minimal bleeding too, because of the enchantment earlier. It’s not gonna last forever though, so,” Kyoutani says, getting up and stretching. He throws away the surgical mask into a bin, then opens a cabinet. Shigeru thinks he heard a lock opening, but doesn’t see any. Magic locks.

“I made this ointment myself. It has Vitamin E in it, and some other attributes. For any kind of pain or annoyances. It will help the art heal faster, too.” Kyoutani hands Shigeru the little glass container when Shigeru stands. He looks down at it in wonder before he’s able to take it. The KyouKen website and social media accounts clearly stated to ‘buy your own fucking Vitamin E creams’. “Don’t scratch at it, and don’t rub. Gently put a bit of the ointment on, then wrap back up in foil. I’ll do it this once for you, to show you how. No water, take care with showering—”

The instructions for the care of Shigeru’s new tattoo are all things he already knows. Part of him wants to snap at Kyoutani. Part of him grips the ointment, and doesn’t. Every part of him is unable to do anything as Kyoutani’s bare fingers take his wrist and spread ointment from another glass container on it. Then the foil wrap comes over Shigeru’s lower arm. His new ink looks angry and mean beneath it, but there wasn’t much bleeding after all.

When Kyoutani is done talking, Shigeru still looks at his first body modification.

“I forgot to say thanks. I really like it.”

“Healing with the ointment should take about 2 weeks or so. If anything happens in the meantime, come here right away or call me. My bedroom—my apartment! I meant apartment…is upstairs. Where I live.”

Shigeru blinks rapidly as Kyoutani turns away from him. He can see how Kyoutani tends to only turn pink at the ears. And it’s kinda cute.

“And uhhhh for my portfolio, I guess. You could come whenever after 2-3 weeks, and I’ll take a pic. Of the ink.”

Shigeru grins this time. “And not my handsome face?”

The eyes become dark at once and squint at him. “Fuck no,” Kyoutani says, but there’s no real bite to the words. Shigeru grins, then bows in a thank you, and a goodbye.

*

*

Kentarou keeps thinking of the guy. During his lunch break, he closes shop and checks out the art school. It’s very pretty, as it always has been. Unattainable for him, and even if it wasn’t, he would have been too out of place. Something his family just couldn’t afford, and no side hustle during high school would have provided the funds for the first year.

The people here wouldn’t have deserved him, anyway. Everyone looks clean and… boring. Kyoutani doesn’t hate them, though. He’s happy that he found his own calling. That he was able to open his own shop and do everything his way. Alone. Unbothered.

_Lonely._

He shakes the thought away. Of course he wouldn’t just randomly find Yahaba, and being here made him feel stupid for even hoping. Turning on his heels, Kentarou returns home, buying some food for his break to eat behind his desk.

It’s not even been a week, after all. He hopes Yahaba will come again. And it’s such a dumb thing to hope for. Yahaba had his tattoo, and for some, it would be the first and the last. No one would regularly come in to get ink. Some shit-part in Kentarou’s brain conjures up how nice it would be if Yahaba would just come to say hi, to talk.

That ‘my bedroom’ mistake was probably counterproductive.

In the evening, Kentarou locks all the doors again, dims the light. He has no feeling of hunger in his gut, and thinks he might as well go up to his apartment to relax.

Then his phone lights up, telling him he shouldn’t. Kentarou looks at the single text curiously. It’s from Yahaba. If he’s still open, the text asks. In reflex, Kentarou looks up to the door and the large window bearing ‘The Clawed’ in big aquamarine colours. No neat-looking artist nerd in sight. Kyoutani types ‘yes’ back. His text is read immediately.

**Your store seems dark. Did you close up already? I can come tomorrow.**

Kentarou unlocks all doors and switches on the lights with his mind. **Come.**

When Yahaba walks in, the usual croak and spray set off. Kentarou doesn’t try to look as laid-back as possible this time, as he immediately notices a blue bruise near Yahaba’s left brow. Hair doesn’t cover it. Kentarou kills the thought inside him to brush the air aside and over it, to let a breeze of comfort cover it. His mind is stronger than his base instinct.

Instead of saying hello or laughing the bruise off the way Kentarou would, Yahaba gives him another drawing. He wears near the same assemble as the last few times Kentarou saw him, only in different colours.

“I…have been aware of your other tattoo services. And I know they come with a higher price. I wanted to ask, what would this cost, if it came with a warding spell?”

Kentarou looks at the drawing: it’s the face of a fearsome oni, with horns. His grandmother and one of his more irritable aunts had oni tattoos on their shoulders. Around the oni is what Kentarou figures is what Yahaba intends to help with the ward; thorns without flowers.

It makes little sense. Kentarou looks up to Yahaba, who looks away. They stand near the entrance, and Kentarou thinks of the light dimming to give them more privacy. Street lamps from outside filter in, and highlight Yahaba’s bruise nonetheless. Kentarou’s teacher and his family always told him the same thing: he didn’t just lack social skills, but also the finesse to handle other people’s emotions well.

Kentarou believes however, that there is no pussyfooting around the truth. Still, he tries to let his voice be as gentle as he can manage when he explains how this is not usable.

“…Demons aren’t meant for warding. They’re intimidating and have other capabilities. I can see how you thought otherwise. A knife is never meant to defend, however. It can only be a means to cut and injure. Or skin an apple,” Kentarou says, not knowing where the tone in his ways came from. He watches Yahaba nod, the face looking too sad and angry to be contained in its soft features.

“I can make a design for it, if you allow me. This demon face… It’s cool, the art is good.” Kentarou, not one to give compliments easily, doesn’t try to focus on why he’s trying to be this nice to a client. He can only look at the bruise, the type he had so many of during fights or arguments that got out of hand. It didn’t look much, and he probably wouldn’t sniff at it. But it seems unsightly and wrong on Yahaba’s face. “It’s just—not you, is it? You want it to connect to your current ink, yes?”

Yahaba looks at him, his voice sounding weaker than before. “Yes.”

“Right, I will come up with something fitting. When I’ve got it, I’ll call you.”

Yahaba nods, not moving an inch away. Kentarou isn’t the type to give out hugs or shoulder pats. He doesn’t think that physical contact is that appropriate, either. He’s just never been a ‘appropriate’-sort of thinker in the first place. So he punches Yahaba’s arm, as gentle as he can. Yahaba flinches, his eyes flare up at Kentarou. Who thinks it was absolutely the wrong move, and regrets it instantly.

“Cheer the shit up. It’s fine, okay?” Kentarou says, stepping back and away from how awkward he feels. Doing the right thing isn’t his forte. Yahaba opens his mouth, his brows furrow.

“Hey, is this what you think will cheer up a person?”

“No!? Tea might,” Kentarou says it, layering his words with acid. He hates being soft. He hates showing these parts so unknown and strange to himself this openly. Yahaba’s face looks more lively though, and the sadness doesn’t appear. It’s better than before, and Kentarou wants to be selfish about his own weird feelings.

“T-tea?”

“Yeah, I always got some brewing. Want some?”

“No, thanks. I prefer coffee.”

“Ew, that? Are you the sad bean water type, then? Figures, misunderstood artist-aura and all.”

“Hey, first you punch me, then you diss my beverage of choice?” Yahaba reels his head back, and Kentarou shakes his head. His most irritable aunt with the oni tattoo was also a coffee drinker. And her cup was best not be messed with. He gets the same tense feelings from Yahaba.

“Alright, alright, go to your expensive cafés, then,” Kentarou says, swinging both doors behind Yahaba wide open with a swoosh of his hand. Yahaba still looks at him though, his bottom lip hanging open. _Inviting._

Then noises from the street reach the windows of Kentarou’s shop. He notices Yahaba flinch, stepping away from the light. Without knowing why, only knowing he should, Kentarou dims the lights once more. He steps towards the doors, locking them with a switch in his mind. The noises sound rowdy, and he can make out all-male voices reaching them, closer and closer. He lights a path of made up fireflies at Yahaba’s feet, showing him a safe path towards the back of the store.

Kentarou’s neck hair stands up when he feels the aura outside reaching closer and closer. A menacing glow, worthy of an oni surrounded by flower-less thorns. Kentarou’s mind conjures a whip that doesn’t manifest.

Then a voice from inside his shop stops him. “No…please don’t. I’ll be in trouble.”

Kentarou never learned night vision, so he can only stare at the fake fireflies near Yahaba’s feet. The group outside passes the parlour, and Kentarou shields his windows from direct sight. Small, simple spells. He feels this strange leash around his throat. Fully aware that Yahaba was born without magic and is no enhancer either, Kentarou wonders why he restrains himself this much.

Why he even cares this much to conjure the weapon he saw in Yahaba’s drawing to his mind.

“Please. Don’t do anything. They’ll pass by and… and I can leave, right away.”

Kentarou doesn’t sigh. He checks the outside as much as his large window allows him to see. The threats pass, clearly searching in their agitated and hungry state. He didn’t see them clearly, only their vile intent.

“I’ll get my own supplies. Let’s go. I can work on your design right away.”

*

*

The café has a dim light, too. Piano music plays in the background, and the chatter of surrounding guests is not overpowering. Shigeru cannot stop nervous looks towards the windows. He should have gone home, straight away. Kyoutani’s tattoo parlour was out of his way in the first place, but wherever his school peers had gone off to, they wouldn’t find him now.

“Don’t shit your pants,” Kyoutani says, as crude as Shigeru has become used to by now.

Shigeru looks down, watching an inking pen filling out the previous pencil line-art. In otherwise perfect concentration, Kyoutani hadn’t touched his tea yet, while Shigeru holds his espresso with the same hand that bears his tattoo beneath. He’s looked at it a hundred times since he got it. The flower had a stem that ended in simple lines, into nothing. His veins aren’t that strong or prominent, yet he believes that Kyoutani connected the lines, somewhat.

He sees how Kyoutani intends to connect the vines bearing thorns with the first flower. The flower Shigeru had drawn for himself at first was a gerbera, and Kyoutani had kept it, too. The flower Kyoutani is inking this time has so many more petals, which are longer, spikier looking.

From what the internet had Shigeru believe, in its simplest form, if done by a strong witch or wizard, even a dot could be inked and bear a spell. The internet was also full of stories of basic mages and other magical hopefuls about how it’s not that easy. Meaning, connection, and the image have to be exactly right.

Shigeru had believed that what he came up with would be malicious enough to become a strong aid to the warding spell. Drinking his espresso, he is also painfully aware of how little he knows of the magic in this world. All around him, he sees people floating their phones, scrolling down. Some conjure images out of nothing, play it like a hologram gif. Even the waiters use magic, teleporting orders from where they stand to where the patrons are.

The world was a split of half and half. Those that could, and those that couldn’t. Shigeru never thought it mattered, despite thinking that having any sort of super power was cool. The people who held his arms and hit his face hadn’t been magical. They were mere brutes, children with too much arrogance, of parents who had too much money. Shigeru doesn’t want the lesser nice thoughts to intrude, especially when he furrows his brows, one side hurts.

“Don’t,” Kyoutani says, his fingers hovering carefully over the piece of paper. Shigeru notices small cuts on the fingers, tape too. He wonders if Kyoutani is clumsy, if he’s allowed to be.

His espresso is gone, and Shigeru doesn’t order another one.

Kyoutani holds up the piece of paper, then takes an overlay one from his bag. He puts it over the drawing, and Shigeru watches as nothing happens. When Kyoutani lifts the overlay up, the drawing is there.

“Thorns.”

“Adding them was smart, but the way you drew them was a bit…much. Even for me. It’s understandable, though. I get it. These may seem less intimidating, but they will hurt anyone who touches you or comes too near. The warding spell that I will add will be powerful enough that no one with ill-intent can come near you. It works like this,” Kyoutani says, putting the paper down as he explains. He holds the overlay over Shigeru’s wrist, shows him how the new flower and the vines with thorns would connect to the cute bee and its little flower.

“There’s multiple ways to do this, and as many options for the artwork. My idea and what I can do, would form a shield of protection. A barrier that rises between you and them, if they come too close to comfort. You are the flower in this scenario, and the thorny stem, the vine, depicts the barrier that shields the pretty—the fragile flower from harm,” Kyoutani says, his fingers hovering over the overlay as he speaks. 

“I could have coloured your first tattoo, but it’s still healing. And the spell would figure out to become more of an attack on sight, or on fear, than a defense mechanism,” Kyoutani finishes it, pulling the overlay art back to himself. He sips his tea, and Shigeru had heard the voice becoming dry.

He’s excited for this to work, but Shigeru won’t let it show. He doesn’t even have the hope to pay for it. But that’s why he asked Kyoutani. Maybe he could offer him a better price, or pray for monthly payments.

Shigeru has become less wary of this guy, which was weird given that Kyoutani hasn’t shown any signs of warming up to him. Most of their interactions has been business-like, up until Shigeru had to run and hide. That moment in the store, when the fireflies lit the way away from the window… Shigeru had felt protected. He was no magical being, but some magic could be visible to his eyes. He’s noticed Kyoutani jerking his chin, his shoulder, a hand. Twitches that were soon followed by clicks from the doors, or a shimmering barrier coming down the windows.

Kindness in a way Shigeru wouldn’t expect from a mere business relation. Help given without question.

When Kyoutani speaks, Shigeru’s hand curl around the empty cup. He does his best to stay attentive to the explanations from Kyoutani’s mouth. When Kyoutani speaks of what he can do, of what he is, it sounds so natural. There’s a glint in his eyes, a sheer attempt of a smile. Shigeru nods and agrees to Kyoutani’s idea.

“You’re closed now, right?” Shigeru finds himself say, eager to have it, knowing the money for the new ink and the ward isn’t in his pockets right now. An uneasy warm ripples down his neck, making him sit tense in his seat. He’s noticed the waiters flashing him questioning eyes. And while he would like more coffee, he ignores their inquisitional looks.

Kyoutani looks at him as if he knows, looks down at the empty cup, too. When Kyoutani turns to a waiter, crosses his fingers to an X, requesting the bill.

“Uh, hold on,” Shigeru says, unable to actually get his hands off the now cold cup. His brain won’t tell his upper body to move, to get his wallet out of his bag. To be faster. He’s got the money to pay for his own damn espresso, at least. Kyoutani doesn’t let him though; his eyes glow over, and the waiter nods. At Kyoutani’s corner of the table arrives the bill.

If Kyoutani could read Shigeru’s mind, he’d be in trouble. He hopes Kyoutani would choose not to, out of professionalism.

“It’s fine. I’ve been told I should have all sorts of beverages at my store before. We had to go here because I don’t. It’s on me,” Kyoutani says. The money for the tea and the coffee is on top of the bill that came out of nothing. One second there, gone the next. It could be so easy.

They leave the café, the warmth, the chatter. Shigeru breathes out and sees his own breath. Somewhere out there—

“My family taught me untraceable hexes. Little things that wouldn’t affect karma, that couldn’t be connected back to me. Things that were so small and insignificant…butterfly wings to one, storms for the other. I’m not saying you shouldn’t get the ink or that I am willing to act as bodyguard,” Kyoutani says, look into nothing. Shigeru stares at him, wanting him to finish whatever rejection he’s building up to.

“Are you sure you want it to be, in this way? A lot of problems can be helped with magic. Tattoos have a higher significance, sometimes. Maybe you should, I don’t fucking know, try out self-defense?”

“Easy for you to say,” Shigeru says, starting to walk. Not towards the tattoo parlour. “I’m just one guy, and they’re a group. If I lay a hand on them, their parents would sue the skin of my bones. I don’t have much, and I need to stay at that school and—”

Anger flares, hot and hungry. Shigeru turns on Kyoutani, glad the latter followed him closely. They’re face to face, not completely nose to nose. “I am not like you, okay! I can’t just, flick my fingers and turn people into worms or something. I am not strong enough to fight back and I’m--”

Shigeru stops himself before the word ‘poor’ leaves his lips. He turns again, meaning to speed-walk away and not look back. To forget about it all and just deal with it.

Kyoutani’s hand reaches Shigeru’s elbow, making him stop and nearly fall back by the force of the pull.

“Hey, chill. Don’t get it twisted. It was just a suggestion…” Kyoutani murmurs. Shigeru can’t look up to him. He hates to appear weak or anything less than semi-perfect. It’s so lame, being what he is, powerless in all ways. Kyoutani’s grip softens. “I never said I wouldn’t do the ink, okay? We can do it tonight, if you don’t have plans other than hiding and running away from the hard things.”

“I wasn’t running,” Shigeru starts, but Kyoutani’s face just grimaces. They pull to the side of the street, as to not block the way of other passers-by. Shigeru sees them in a blur, gulping down the helplessness, the way he feels incapable of anything. No, he hadn’t intended to just run. Shigeru’s weak-willed mind gave up at once. At the slightest guess that things wouldn’t go as he wanted, he figured he’d just might as well vanish away and forget about it all

“…Let’s go back, okay? I can order food or cook something.”

Shigeru looks down. Kyoutani’s hand drops of his shoulder. He has to say it.

“I know your… magical services are more expensive. I don’t think—I can’t pay for it, not right away.”

Kyoutani breathes out through his nose. Then a mocking laugh has Shigeru glare up at him.

“You’re worried about money? You just got your first tattoo, willing to have the next one right away and with magical attributes which you have no real understanding of. Some shitheads chase you and you’re admitting all of…this. To me.” Kyoutani gestures to all of Shigeru, who looks away, scoffing. “And you’re worried about the funds. Well I ain’t. Hate to break it to you, but as soon as I put a spell on you, I am kinda able to track you down.”

“Wait, what!?” Shigeru’s voice heightens, and he watches Kyoutani shrug.

“A piece of my magic has to stay with you for the warding spell. Most tattoos nowadays won’t fade until 15-20 years. Spells…well it differs by what the user imbues. But the kind of ward I think of should be solid for 3-5 years. Shorter if you want. It’s the same to me. I can’t change what it is, and I don’t have any real power over you. Just if I want, I can find you.”

This was new information to Shigeru. But he wasn’t as perturbed by the fact of a trace on him. Three years seems long right now, but that’s the time-span he plans to stay in the art academy.

“I guess if there’s no other way,” Shigeru nods, turning around to see where he is. Kyoutani steps beside him. There’s a feint in his motion, as if he wanted to bump into him but decided last second not to. “And we can talk about how and when I pay you?”

“Yeah, sure. Business is good right now, so I’m not in a bad state if I offer a little charity.”

Breathing out heavier than before, Shigeru closes his eyes. Being held down, punched, hearing the same nasty cutting words, so up close and personal. He doesn’t want to feel that again. The pain, the price, the pity. It will be worth it.

“Alright, let’s do this then.”


	2. The Thorns

Kentarou uses his abilities the same way he breathes, walks, lives. It’s part of him, using his powers to do simple things without thinking of them. He only notices Yahaba’s reaction to it; the opening doors and the switched on lights before keys are used, doorknobs are touched, or a light switch is hit. Kentarou waves his arm forward for Yahaba to go into the space where the actual inking magic happens, where they’ve spent a bit of time together during the previous tattoo session.

When Kentarou turns around, it’s because he needs to concentrate a bit more on what he’s about to do. Lifting his hands, palms facing forward, he mumbles a dimming screen into life. It’s to safe-keep their doings, to hide the work-lamp lights. To not draw attention. Kentarou doesn’t think the assholes who are after Yahaba would come back or even try to find him here. They didn’t come knocking the first time passing by. Still, Kentarou likes to be on his guard, to be ready for the unexpected. His aunts taught him that.

And you never know who other magic-wielders could be.

“Wow, that looks pretty,” Yahaba says behind him. Kentarou looks over his shoulders, then back to the screen. It shimmers like a living thing, like all that Kentarou speaks into life, into existence. Sentient magic that is part of him, outside of him, him in essence. Kentarou sometimes hates that his magic had a touch of sparkle to it, like faint glitter. But the thought doesn’t manifest too strongly. His grandmother loves glitter, and so it was now part of him, part of all.

“The store will appear closed to anyone else,” Kentarou says, and at the same time locks and barriers at the front of his shop shift into place. The frog an alarm system. He decides against ordering food.

“Keep yourself busy. I’ll make food. Fiber and sugar to deal with the processes,” Kentarou says, suggesting to Yahaba to sit on an easy chair in the corner of the workshop. He has a seat and a sofa, for all those who join their friends who get tattoos and want to watch or distract them. Kentarou hates small talk and mindless chatter, and always welcomes extra bodies if it means they would do the talking for him.

He’s been talking a lot more with Yahaba than he would have with anyone else. He knows why. He doesn’t want to admit why.

“Are we going to eat here?” Yahaba asks, looking around. Within the seating area is a small table. If unneeded, Kentarou puts a screen there usually, when he works on someone’s skin. Kentarou himself was highly against it, at heart. But he doesn’t want to sit in the front of the shop, or invite Yahaba into his private quarters. They weren’t that familiar.

 _Yet_ , a teasing little voice whispers in the back of his mind. An uninvited guest, harmless in nature.

“Don’t worry, I told you I value taking care of oneself. Cooking and cleaning. It will be absolutely spotless before I start inking.” Kentarou starts towards the stairs that lead up to his apartment. On the first step he turns to Yahaba, an odd sense of wanting to soothe him, please him, pulling at Kentarou. “You aren’t allergic to anything?”

“No, not that I know off. I don’t handle spicy food well though,” Yahaba says, slowly making his way to the sofa. Kentarou watches him take off the large coat and bag, putting them neatly aside. It feels as if Yahaba wants to say more, then decides against it with a shake of his head. Kentarou hears the gratitude nonetheless, unspoken between them.

“Weak. But okay, bland plate for Mr. Preppy,” Kentarou says, stomping out the protest following him upstairs in minor squawks. He grins to himself when the door opens, the lights go on, and all the time he’s cutting, washing, and cooking the curry dish.

On a tray he already has a side of peppery radishes for himself, and sugary chocolate protein bars for Yahaba. That odd little voice drowns out the kitchen noises as he’s close to done with it. A tiny voice, satisfied and knowing. _Homemade food, because we all know the way to the heart leads through the stomach._

Kentarou shakes it away, growls it out. Nonsense. There’s not even a hope in Hell for whatever nonsense his brain and guts are in cahoots with. Yahaba is just a client. A special client. Someone Kentarou uses all available means for. Using his powers to protect, and doesn’t care for payment afterwards, or wants any extras for. It’s simple and clean; Kentarou only wants to help someone out.

 _Which is what I am known for, of course. KyouKen the good samaritan. KyouKen the helper,_ Kentarou’s own inner voice resounds in mockery, but Kentarou kills it too. Shakes it off. It’s no use, however, as all the voices in his head, ranging from his female family members, to his male peers strewn across the city come back stronger. Bringing friends. His teacher, his regulars, his own fucking mirror image, all joining in like choir of hell-bound angels. _Someone’s in love, someone’s gotta crush. And you wish it wasn’t just you, not just-one-sided. Maybe it isn’t—_

“Shut the fucking shit up!” Kentarou says out loud, vibrating cleansing energy from his body, expelling all the thoughts.

“I—I didn’t say anything!” Yahaba says from the doorway, looking in, frightened and on guard. Kentarou stares at him. He doesn’t seem harmed, and Kentarou knows what he did just now was only aimed at himself, at his own thoughts. An explosion from within. Yet his walls bore the shock, the pots and pans had moved a bit on the stoves. The glasses, plates and cutlery he put ready calmed down just now.

“The hell you doing up here…”

“Well, sorry Mr. Iron-grip, but I don’t have an equally iron bladder like you must have. I need a bathroom,” Yahaba says, a slight tinge of colour on his cheeks. As Kentarou stares on, incredulous, the pink deepens and spreads.

“Uhm. It’s under the stairs, wait,” Kentarou says, switching on the light downstairs and opening the sealed door. His toilet was only for visitors and friends. He hid it otherwise. It was like breathing, he didn’t think about it. “Next to the chair, you should be able to access it now.”

“Thanks,” Yahaba says, sounding more inwards and less thankful. He’s gone in a second.

Kentarou feels those eyes on him still. They weren’t frightened. Just. Odd.

_Stranger and stranger still, these emotions…_

Murmuring ‘shut up’ in a lower voice, Kentarou tastes the food. Adding just a bit of pepper, he stirs it twice more. Then he puts rice and curry on the plates in even proportions. Breathing in and out, he calms his mind, rests his shoulders. He has to check himself or inking would be impossible. And it was so important too. Not just because whatever fuckery was floating in his mind and torturing his stomach and chest. He was a professional.

“Oh, it smells good,” Yahaba says as Kentarou comes downstairs with the tray. Kentarou watches as Yahaba collects his drawing utensils from the table, clearing it for their dinner. Eating gratefully goes by without another hitch. Yahaba is a slow and careful eater at first, then shovels a bit quicker when everything is to his liking. Kentarou hums seeing the fruit of his labour so visibly.

“’Kay, let’s start,” Kentarou says, already having surgical masks and gloves in his hand. The machine comes to life. Yahaba looks at the table with the dishes. Before the question comes off his client’s lips, Kentarou floats everything on the trays, and the entire thing up. “Don’t worry about it, washing dishes isn’t important right now.”

_He is._

When he starts working, Kentarou intends to not talk. But before he puts the needle down on Yahaba, his mouth betrays him. Without inquiring, Kentarou just tells Yahaba that he hates bullies.

“They come in a pack, never alone. They ain’t got the strength or the guts to do shit to anyone their own size. Cowards.”

“Hmm, I guess. They might not have physical strength but…” Yahaba starts, his mouth slacking as Kentarou whispers the Calm Mind spell onto him. Yahaba’s eyes close, a soothed breath eases out. As the needle pricks his skin, Yahaba continues. “They’ve got political power, and money.”

“Bunch of rich bastards picking on you? For being poor?”

“I am not..! Well yeah, maybe. It’s mostly that all the money in the world cannot buy talent. Private tutors, being able to bribe some teachers. It’s…” Yahaba says, about to start a whole explanation. Kentarou prods him to continue. “They always were mean, in words. Said a guy like me receiving student aid has no place at ‘their’ school. I’m not being favoured by the teachers for my situation. Not all of the adults are in the rich family’s pocket, either. There was a uh, art contest. Sendai’s—”

“Extraordinary Work contest, yeah. I saw some pieces and the promo for it. You won? I didn’t check it out,” Kentarou says, letting his pen write a physical note to check it out later.

“I came second. The prize money is how I afforded the first tattoo. I… I am very grateful that I won something and that my talent was recognized. None of the rich kids got anything though. They couldn’t bribe the people holding the contest, I suppose. I don’t even know why they were so mad at me for winning. Apart from the money, it shouldn’t mean anything to them.”

“Tch, course it did. You basically threw mud in their face. You were appreciated, and they didn’t get the spotlight. You showed ‘em you’re better, and they hate it.”

“Yeah… the remarks I got on a weekly basis came in daily. Every single class I have with them… There’s four guys you see, they picked the tables or work spaces around me. And always whispered shit to me. The teachers either don’t hear them or are powerless.”

Kentarou doesn’t want to mention the bruise. If he had honed any healing abilities, he would have alleviated the pain, the unsightly damage. He couldn’t, and so he chooses to ignore it as he paints thorns upon thorns along the vine he draws first. Working from the outside to the inside was part of the magic, the process of the warding spell. Intent cuts deep as the ink flows. He cannot hold Yahaba’s wrist as the previous made tattoo is still healing and shouldn’t be rubbed. So Kentarou thinks of bonds, thick and not painful. They appear round and round Yahaba’s skin, strapping the limb fast to the chair’s armrest. Using all available means necessary, when Kentarou is usually so proud to keep his talents hidden from view.

It’s the same with his mouth, which keeps on talking, when usually he keeps it shut tight. 

“Those guys think they’re hot shit because their parents drop some money for school charities. They’re coddled fuckers, they’re nothing on their own. Don’t let them get to you,” Kentarou says, even though it feels empty. They already got to Yahaba, after all. It’s clear that unlike himself, Yahaba has no idea how to defend himself. “…It’s not my style, but…why didn’t you run?”

“And give them even more power? Be afraid of them, always? No. They didn’t… It wasn’t that painful and—I just can’t let them have that over me, too,” Yahaba grumbles, more angry at them or himself, perhaps, than at Kentarou’s questions.

This guy…He took a beating instead of running. Never cried for help nor points out the unfairness. Kentarou understands that with ease. The strangest sense of pride comes over him. More and more to his liking, this snowflake guy. An avalanche coming right down to Kentarou _already entrapped, already rolling and tumbling down, already unable to escape this cold icy pain deep down, how foolish to think you could outrun it, that you’re even running or trying to avoid it_. An avalanche that came suddenly and with a roar. He’s not a total idiot and knows exactly what these moronic emotions thundering in his chest are. Kentarou turns a blind eye to it.

“When this is done, I can teach you some techniques. Maybe not for those guys, and for the next couple of years that the spell is active…” Kentarou says, hating how his voice sound. So eager to help.

“I don’t think I could ever punch someone, or even push them,” Yahaba says, his head tilting to the side. “Afraid to get hurt, and all that.”

“You’re gonna get hurt either way. At least make a stand and make them regret touching you. Give them what they don’t expect,” Kentarou sighs against the mask, making warmth double within it. Yahaba huffs and empty laugh, then says ‘okay’.

“Sure, teach me. I could draw some art for your shop, maybe. As a trade. Some tattoo artists have art to go with their shop name. You were the only one who doesn’t.”

“Couldn’t decide on one thing, so I chose not to,” Kentarou says, happy the conversation changes to another direction. _As if an avalanche can be faked out_. “Anyway, don’t worry about being even with me.”

“Why not?” Yahaba asks, a relevant and fair question to which Kentarou has no answer but a shrug.

“It’s whatever to me. I don’t even know what your stuff looks like. Second place means nothing ‘cept someone else being better than you. Maybe I don’t like your art,” Kentarou says, glancing a minuscule second at the bee and the flower he drew. Because Yahaba didn’t want his own artwork on his body.

“Mhnn, maybe I should give you shitty artwork then. To make your own hanging here look better,” Yahaba says, a hint of laughter in his tone that gets to Kentarou. With ease. As if he has no barriers against it raised.

In the middle of the tattoo, when the line-work is done, Kentarou feels the need to explain how the warding spell is done.

“Under normal circumstances, I would just speak it, the way I’m sitting now,” Kentarou says, his surgical mask pulled down to his chin, the needle and the machine resting as he shakes out his hands. “What I can do…it’s hard to explain, and its fluid in power by simple changes and adjustments. I can make it stronger. There’s only one thing. It requires a bit more intimacy.”

Yahaba’s wariness resurfaces, a hound woken from its deep slumber. “Is it more expensive? And what do you mean my intimacy?”

“I told ya a hundred times now not to worry about the damn prices. I won’t charge extra, because I’m offering this voluntarily. I just. I can whisper the spell into your skin, quite literally. It might tickle and uh, feel awkward. I have to be very close.”

Kentarou is at once aware of his dry lips, because Yahaba is staring at them. He blinks, eyes not leaving the mouth that felt the need to speak this cursed suggestion into existence.

“You and your assumption what I can and can’t handle it is preposterous. It’s getting on my nerves. I am not ticklish, okay? Maybe you are. And anyway, if it’s a stronger spell and…the cost is the same. Yes, of course I’d be okay with it,” Yahaba says, his words and attitude all resembling having a handle on himself, knowing himself and being strong. If Kentarou had been blind, he’d believe Yahaba on those words alone. Sucks for him that his face is as red as a ripe tomato.

Kentarou grins away how nervous he feels. He won’t back down from a challenge. Shifting the chair backwards, he takes Yahaba’s arm, freed of invisible bonds. The skin is red all over, bleeding where the needle had been last. Kentarou lifts the lower arm to his lips, careful not to touch it. He greets the line-art as its creator, and Yahaba’s pulse answers loudly back.

When he starts whispering the warding spell into the skin, he feels it all, reading Yahaba like an open book. All walls are down, and Kentarou feels the floods of anxiety, the anticipation. And deep underneath it all, attraction. The choir of fallen angels sings in furious glory, heating up Kentarou’s skin and other places. He pushes it down, focusing on his work. On the magic that he pulls from the abyss.

This thick skin has handled far worse than cuts and bruises. Pain and exhaustion, the feeling of being different than the rest of his friends, always an outsider. Little bits of ecstasy that were rushed and never long-lasting, heartbreak and rejection, guys who used him for their own needs, never caring for his, never a place to call his home. The bruise was nothing. The punches to his gut had been nothing. Not when his body was so often a shell, and the insides empty and joyless. When the entire soul felt lonely and left out, forgotten by those he cared for.

There’s nothing hidden from the spell, and Kentarou’s brows furrow as he feels and sees it all. Usually, the ‘intimate’ part didn’t include that much information coming from the person who receives the ward. Kentarou understands instinctively that it is because he wants to know. An unprofessional asshole who wants to know this Yahaba Shigeru, in and out. All the bad parts that Kentarou needs to protect. None of the good parts, because Kentarou wants to be part of it so desperately in the future. A future in which he, a guy, has a chance to exist.

Dust and glitter swirls around their chairs. The eye of the storm enters from below, through Yahaba’s arm, up to the ceiling. It’s soundless, and Yahaba takes a sharp intake of breath. The colours are grey and gold, a hint of light blue-green that pierces the skin, meant to stay.

_protect against all comers, snap at those who mean harm, create a barrier, be strong, keep him safe, strike and protect_

It starts in his head, the mantra, perfecting and completing it before Kentarou’s audible whispers brings moisture to the reddened skin. Under any other circumstance, this would be a breach of hygiene. The warding spell activates under the skin, making the line-art glow in the colours of the dust storm whirling between spell-caster and charm-bearer. Kentarou keeps whispering the same things over and over, until the storm invades the line art, making the tattoo magical, and receptive for the next layer, for the hardening of the defenses.

When Kentarou is done, he puts Yahaba’s back on the arm rest. Without looking him in the eye, Kentarou busies himself with the next steps of the inking process. He feels Yahaba staring down his neck.

“What the hell was that?”

“What the hell was what?” Kentarou counters the question, as if nothing strange just occurred.

“I just. Had a whole bunch of memories going through my brain in high speed. Is that normal!?”

“…It’s the kind of stuff you wanna be protected against. Bits of it. The spell, it searches for an anchor, a painful memory. The more the better, as twisted as it sounds. You got hurt, and don’t want to relive it again. So the spell goes through a bunch of memories, finding those alike the more recent ones. Emotional hurt and physical are never the same, even for this sort of thing. Told ya, it’d be intimate…”

Yahaba looks away, blushing again. “I thought you meant… the other stuff.”

Faceless boyfriends, lovers, people who promised the world for a night and then left before the sun was up. Hope and joy, to be crushed by ghosting messages, unanswered phone calls, and eyes that would never meet again. Kentarou feels the same when he craves food but can’t have it, eats something else instead. But you’re not ‘full’, not satisfied in the least. That was how Yahaba’s love life, or lack of it, had unfolded during the warding spell.

Kentarou concentrates on his job, not looking up as he brings a new needle as he starts on the colouring. “Anyway, there was nothing… new there. Regarding your uh.. What you like. I hate the idea of that stupid ‘radar’ shit, but I guessed it. Your preferences.”

“High word for the likes of you,” Yahaba says, no real heat behind it. “I don’t try to make it too obvious. Trying’s the word, if you saw right through me,” Yahaba says, his voice a little bit lighter. Acting like he doesn’t care, when he clearly cares a lot. So much that everything inside of Kentarou knows what he wants, admits to those unintended feelings blossoming.

After 20 minutes, Kentarou puts the needle down, flexes his wrist. He sighs, finally looking at Yahaba. A beat goes by, and Kentarou shows off one of his art pieces, in the inside nook of his elbow. It’s a simple Male symbol, doubled. The ‘o’ parts are intertwined, a heart woven between them.

“There’s nothing wrong with being obvious,” Kyoutani says holding Yahaba’s gaze, even as the eyes look down and up, up and down.

“Do you… do you have spells in them too?”

“Couple of them. They’re dark magic though, bits of white magic too. I try to speak my own spells mostly, which belong to the grey kind.”

“Oh, I see. What was the tornado then? It was just grey…”

“Golden magic is special. It’s ancient. The type you get passed down from generations. Unbroken witchcraft passed down is the strongest. Giving up one’s powers is a sacrifice that the deities pay attention to. It allows the person who…has it, to be stronger and able to do more, faster. Better. The dust and—” Glitter. “The stuff you see, it’s magic, pure and solid, fluid in movement. It’s all around us, and now it’s a part of you, too. It’s everywhere. But how much someone like me can pull, mould, use…that all depends.”

Yahaba nods, when it clearly is all too much to understand at once. Kentarou continues, drilling into Yahaba’s skin the magic he talked off. He sees it flow, solidify. Become a powerful weapon, one that will only attack when provoked. Whips of thorn, sweet petals to the bearer’s skin. No harm would ever come to Yahaba, whoever was an asshole enough to try and come for him.

They finish in silence, taking no further breaks. Kentarou knows he needs one of his aunt’s ointments for his hands later, to soothe the cramps. Cleaning the skin, he looks at the two combined tattoos. He made sure that they wouldn’t be too different from another.

“I can colour the first one another time, if you like. Think about it.”

Silently, Yahaba looks at his arm, sitting up. “It doesn’t look any different.”

“Nah, not everyone has to know, right? They can, but this is more hidden and simple.” Kentarou sits back, his arms crossed. He lights up the room, and from the ceiling, a full body mirror drops down gracefully.

Outside the night is dark. Kentarou senses bats in the air space. He leaves Yahaba to inspect the tattoo in the mirror and with better light. Kentarou becomes a bit antsy, as Yahaba hasn’t said what he thinks of the artwork yet. Most clients would show some sort of excitement and gift him praise. Yahaba, albeit not wary for once, inspects the tattoo. Prods it gently with his finger, careful not to rub.

“…They can’t come near me now.” Yahaba starts to smile. “I should be careful during lectures and in the canteens.”

“Or you won’t, and push them off a chair. They can’t do anything. Be careful not to actually attack them first though, that’s not how it works. But pushing them off a chair in the midst of people? Would be a sight,” Kentarou adds, looking at the thorns he drew. The stem would never attack, and only prick those who would touch. It was perfect.

Yahaba laughs, a short but hearty sound comes from his throat. He closes his eyes as the after-giggles follow, his shoulders shaking a bit. Kentarou blinks, and at once his nails bite into his skin. His lips press together as he keeps a curse insight his mouth. His voiced curses can be dangerous, and keeping the thoughts inside his head do not silence the rest.

“You should refrain from drinking alcohol in the next 48-72 hours,” he says, by means to distract himself. “It’s the only other rule you have to think of. The rest you know.”

“Yeah I do. Because of blood thinning and more blood oozing out. I told you, I knew this before the first tattoo already.”

“There’s more to it. I imbued magic into your skin, and the tattoo is very close to your veins. Blood magic is an ancient art of the Dark, and it’s strictly forbidden. I told you magic is everywhere, and its ways are not always predictable. Drinking alcohol, dimming your mind and actions, allowing thoughts to run up, while new magic is strengthening within…that’s a dangerous combo,” Kentarou continues with his original intend to warn, watching Yahaba gulp down his laughter. “Once the 72 hours are over, come and find me again. We uh. Can grab a beer at a bar nearby. My treat.”

He actually goes and says it, as nails dig hard enough to hurt. Kentarou holds his breath.

Yahaba smiles, a sweet image that Kentarou stares at as to not forget, and for Yahaba invisible particles flow from Kentarou’s mind up to the ceiling. He could have suggested it more powerfully, but that wasn’t Kentarou’s style.

“That would be nice,” Yahaba says, allowing Kentarou’s entire being to loose the tension. Yahaba lingers for a second longer, before he walks towards the black shimmering screen. He touches it gently, and it’s as if Kentarou’s soul is touched, too. The screen evaporates. Kentarou’s cheeks puff as he releases a lot of air at once.

Yahaba turns one last time to him. “Thank you, for everything. I’ll make sure to pay the amount I owe as quick as possible.”

When Yahaba leaves out of the unlocked doors, Kentarou can’t shake the sense of victory. He forms a balled fist, whispering ‘yes’ into nothing. There’s still so much to do, to clean up and look after. Kentarou sits into his chair behind the desk, looks at the swirling ceiling, and dreams.

*

*

For hours Kentarou holds his anger at bay. He’s mostly angry at himself, to have become so trusting and hopeful. His heart weakened, his soul so bare. Looking at the doors and the window, Kentarou reprimands himself. Concentrating on work was impossible on the third day, and he was glad that he had only ink-work in the morning and early noon time. As soon as it turns 5 o’clock, he fidgets. He waits. Like a dumb mutt for a master that might never claim him.

It is of course the moment that he looks away that rapid knocks come on his glass door. His mood eases as he watches Shimizu enter. She’s a nightmare all dressed in black, flowing thick fabrics and black leather gloves. Kentarou manages a smile, even as Shimizu’s face is stone and ice. She mouths to him ‘Not a word, not a moving muscle’. Kentarou gets up to welcome here and ask what she wants, as police enter right after her.

The frog croaks at everyone, but Kentarou holds off the usual welcoming spray. A hundred bad things enter his mind and he feels Shimizu’s power waving it off.

“Kyoutani, I need you to answer a few simple questions. Remain calm,” the latter words have a soothing sounds, which Shimizu directs to Kyoutani and the officers.

Time appears to move slowly, but Kentarou is seated with Shimizu by his side and the officers in front asking questions. They range from his clientele, magical tattoos. Kentarou hears himself answering his basic personal information first, but feels no need to tell them everything. It’s hard to ask back what this is about with Shimizu’s spell in affect.

Thankfully she is here, stepping in between.

“I have introduced myself before as Kyoutani-kun’s attorney, and we will say nothing further until we’re at the department. There he can answer on record, after I have spoken to him and within my official presence. But first, Kyoutani-kun has a right to know what this is about.”

Telepathically, and within images and words that become Kentarou’s knowledge in a second, Shimizu tells him how she was around when she heard his name and a unit being sent here. She knows nothing more than his involvement in a magical accident.

The police look at the woman dressed in all black. Kentarou senses no magic in them.

“About three days ago, Kyoutani-san created a special tattoo on Yahaba Shigeru’s skin. Today, around 4 pm, four students at the nearby art school were harmed because of it,” one of the officers explains, visibly at unease.

Kentarou, if left to his own devices, would have jumped in shock and anger. This now protrudes Shimizu’s calming spell, and waves weave back and forth between them. Kentarou has no shame to let her know who Yahaba is, what he has become to Kentarou in those couple of days.

“Where is Yahaba-san now?” Shimizu asks, not turning to him.

“In custody, charges being serious maiming and attack by use of magical attributes.”

“What, but, how!?” Kentarou says, angry now. Shimizu turns around this time, calming him with a mere look. Invisible forces push Kentarou back down. Any other words that threaten to bubble up are immediately silenced.

“What exactly has Kyoutani-san to do with all this?” Shimizu continues, and Kentarou hears the faint suggestion she layers over her question. ‘Tell me everything’.

The officers are all wary, but more of Kentarou than Shimizu. Their mistake. “Well, he’s the one who created the magical attribute, didn’t he? He’s a key-witness, and possible accomplice in this crime. Our duty is to take him to the department for questioning, and see how much of this is his fault too. How many laws he has broken.”

Kentarou wants to growl, to stand up and yell. Instead, darkness emanates from Shimizu. Tendrils of pure power and intimidation fill the shop.

“Do not speak of law when you know none of it, fool. My Great-great-grandmother wrote the magical laws,” her voice has an abyssal tone to it, as if Hell opened up beneath them all. Kentarou doesn’t know what to feel anymore. “Your first mistake was going to a magical user, in charge of a magical case, without magical entities on your part. You do not know the laws, so do not. Test. My knowledge. On them.”

As quick as it came, the darkness zaps out of existence. As if it never existed. Shimizu’s face never flickers another emotion but detached calmth.

“Like I said, you will now take us to the department where Yahaba-san is being held. I will be his and Kyoutani-kun’s defending attorney, and I have the right to speak to my client,” Shimizu says, her head slightly turned over her shoulder. Kentarou feels the bonds fade, and he gets up to follow her out. They pass the frightened police officers, who at once know why people don’t fuck with Dark witches.

“Shimizu-san,” Kentarou says as soon as they’re out, but Shimizu flashes him a smile.

“Don’t worry KyouKen. I know the law. Let me do this.”

“Uh, yeah thanks. I am sorry that I haven’t finished your next piece yet.”

Shimizu nods in a knowing way. Maybe Kentarou should have controlled his emotions a little better and not told her what has gone on inside of him.

“It’s fine, Kentarou-kun. We were just started on the line art.” She smiles. When the police come out, they all go to the department together. No one says a word.

*

*

Kentarou, against all odds and people’s opinion of him, has never set foot in a police department before. Given the situation and the involved parties, he feels on edge. The walls around him are all imbued with dimming powers. He feels authority and granted permissions, secret things and hidden knowledge everywhere. He follows Shimizu and the police down to the cells, feeling all of it intensify.

In a single holding cell, Shimizu introduces herself to Yahaba. Yahaba’s surprised face goes from her to Kentarou. The gaze stays on the latter as Shimizu speaks. Kentarou sighs with relief seeing that Yahaba is unharmed. The plastic wrapping is off his arm though, and Yahaba’s sleeves are rolled up. There are no chains or bonds on his person.

No visible ones.

“Oh, I’m sorry Kyoutani. They pulled you into it,” Yahaba says, an apologetic smile on his features. It hides the fear, mostly.

“Not to worry, I will take care of this,” Shimizu says, and Yahaba wants to interrupt her. His eyebrows furrowing the same way Kentarou’s did when they first met. _us against them all_.

“Yahaba, you can trust her. She’s awesome.”

“It’s just that,” Yahaba starts, but then the door to his cell opens again. A new officer, obviously magical and friendly, opens the door.

“Hey! Sorry for the interruption, Grandchild Kiyoko. But uh, Yahaba-kun? How many attorneys can you afford?”

Yahaba opens his mouth, starting with “Actually, none—” as behind Kentarou, a figure with fluffy black hair, lazy eyes and an easy grin rushes inside. To Kentarou’s bigger surprise, he has seen this guy around before, but cannot place a name to him.

“Yahaba, hey,” the man walks in, looking disheveled. As if he rushed here at high speed and without care for his looks. He spares Kentarou and Shimizu a surprised look as he passes them by, then ruffles Yahaba’s hair. Kentarou murders whatever he feels in his throat and stomach as he stares at the hand in the used-to-perfect hair.

“Yahaba, you bisexual beast. What’s this, huh?”

Kentarou is only able to stand because Shimizu steadies his mind and feet. Yahaba turns red under the stares, and pushes the man’s hand off him. He can’t seem to meet Kentarou’s eyes.

“Matsukawa-kun? Oh,” Shimizu says, her posture perfect, her hand outstretched. “Long time no see. I thought you were in charge of south-Sendai?”

“Kiyoko-san! Yes I usually am. Yahaba was my kouhai in high school. Some years back,” Matsukawa smiles gently, and Kentarou feels Shimizu calming him down for what feels to be the hundredth time today. Instant knowledge enters his mind, shooing all jealous demons away _”Matsukawa gave himself to a flower mage, they’re bonded lovers, soon to be married. Relax.”_

“Anyway, what are you doing here, beautiful witch of the north? This isn’t your section as far as I’m aware of, either.”

“I know Kyoutani-kun. He did all my tattoos, and I’m still employing him for more. I chose to be his magical defense attorney and well, I was about to help Yahaba too.”

“That makes a lot of sense, I guess. I don’t know much more than what Yahaba told me in his one panicked call. But let’s work together, yes? At least, I think we’re on the same side if you were about to help my little kouhai here.”

“Matsukawa-san, _please_ ,” Yahaba pleads, his face a light pink now. Kentarou looks to them all, unable to understand how red bonds of faith wove this together in a holding cell. ‘Bisexual disaster’, roams in his mind. But he hadn’t seen any of that… Not that it mattered right now. Or changed his growing, stupid feelings he harboured deep inside.

Sighing, Kentarou makes his way over to Yahaba. He knows his powers in here have diminished, and feels that part of his magic in Yahaba has been tamed. He takes his hand, not knowing what else to do.

Yahaba uses his free hand to straighten his hair, as Matsukawa pulls away to talk to Shimizu.

“I’m sorry… I wanted to come during lunch but had extra work to do. And then I couldn’t come at all,” are Yahaba’s first words out of his mouth. Kentarou nods.

“Listen, that doesn’t matter right now. You can trust Shimizu-san. She’s awesome, and incredible at her job. She’s a witch, like me. A powerful one. She’s our best bet for whatever you’re dealing with, as she’s super knowledgeable about my work.” Kentarou looks up, hoping that his words, without any help from his passed-down powers, are able to put Yahaba a bit more at ease. When Yahaba looks down at their hands only, a small smile appears on his lip.

“I think it’s good to work together,” Shimizu says. “I shall be Kentarou-kun’s official defense lawyer, and Matsukawa-kun will be Yahaba-kun’s. The police tried to interrogate him and probably wanted to put him in a neighbouring cell. Now, where are these chairs I asked for…”

As soon as Shimizu says it, the door opens again, letting in the friendly cop. He has the chairs and bows deeply to Shimizu.

“Grandchild Kiyoko, here are the things you asked for! And don’t worry, my colleagues are too afraid to come here or interrupt. I told them who you were!” The boy says, and Kentarou sees now that he’s very small.

“Thank you, cousin Shibayama. Will you stand guard at the door?”

Shibayama smiles. “Of course! Anything you need, you have to knock, though. As soon as the door closes, the barriers rise. I am not yet allowed to evade them.”

“Thank you, cousin. That’s all fine,” Shimizu says, and the door closes as the two lawyers take their seats. Yahaba is distracted by the ongoings he has no understanding of. Kentarou nudges him.

“’Grandchild’ is a honourable prefix for magical children that come from long unbroken lines. Ancient ones. I’m the fourth generation to be of magic, but Shimizu-san’s line goes way, way back. As such, she has different titles…” Kentarou finds himself explaining softly. Unable to leave Yahaba’s side, Kentarou looks up to Shimizu for guidance. Kentarou could pick a fight with any dude his size or bigger, but it would be insane to even think of lifting a finger against Shimizu. As skilled of a witch that she was, he now hopes to see her law-skills in action too.

“Let us start at the beginning, shall we?” Her voice is gentle as she speaks. “As of now, only Yahaba as the victim knows what has happened. I have heard the minimal things of the warding spell you carry in those thorns,” Shimizu says, looking down to where Yahaba’s tattoos are exposed. Matsukawa sits back easy, and Kentarou doesn’t sense anything weird from him.

Releasing a deep breath, Yahaba begins to explain.


	3. The Bonded

Kyoutani’s hand is an anchor. It cools his emotions, steadies him. After Shigeru releases a breathe, he goes inward, not looking at anything but the unsuspected, yet welcome handhold.

“Today I was preparing for a gallery expose. The students are holding an event this weekend, showcasing our latest work. I had skipped lunch for it, and a quarter to 4 I felt peckish. I uh… I guess I should say everything—After 5, I had plans to go to Kyoutani’s tattoo parlour. We…had a meeting. Anyway, I finished eating one muesli bar at the vending machine. I went back to clean up after myself.”

The cell is cold, Shigeru thinks, but Kyoutani’s hand warms him. He hates talking about this stuff, but it appears there’s more on the line than Shigeru’s life, career and future.

“There were. There are bullies at my school. Richer kids who had always picked on me for having less than them. I scorned them, placing 2nd at an art contest where they weren’t even considered by the jury. I saw them in the middle of the hallway, and they were blocking the private drawing room that I had used to finish my piece. The rooms have locks, and I only worried that they were going after my art. I wasn’t considering that I was in danger as…as well. The tattoo,” Shigeru says, and he hears pens scratching the paper, halting as he does.

“Kyoutani’s tattoo, the second one he made for me with the large flower and the stem surrounding it with thorns—it’s magical, as you may already know. I felt it pulsate at the time, but I thought it was just my own fear at first. The hallway we were in wasn’t wide, and while these…bullies hurled their shitty insults at me, I pressed myself against the wall. I meant to just. Go back into the drawing room and lock myself in. But then they blocked my path to it, came forward. I swear, I tried to keep my arm away from them, not knowing what would happen if the barrier was activated.”

Shigeru looks up, looking at Shimizu first. She nods, looking at Matsukawa.

“I can sense it. Kyoutani is a witch like me, and he put a warding spell into that tattoo. It protects the carrier of it against harm from those who are willing to hurt him. The base of the spell ensures that no one he dislikes or expects pain from, can actually touch him. It’s in no way meant to attack, only to defend. Correct, Kyoutani-kun?”

“Yes, exactly,” Kyoutani says, his voice sounding as gruff as Shigeru has first heard it.

Matsukawa nods without saying anything, looking down as he makes notes.

“When they came towards me, I stopped moving. I didn’t want to run away, and I had to go back there after all. I stopped, because I felt the power from the tattoo. I saw this…thin, pinkish sheen. A protective barrier. I saw the likes of it in Kyoutani’s workshop before. It became more and more solid the closer the guys came, and it…hummed. I don’t know if it was song, pure power, or anything soothing,” Shigeru says, making it a question towards Kyoutani who keeps his head bowed.

“All of it…” he answers. Shigeru breathes out through his nose, then looks up to the two lawyers.

“And you stayed behind it, completely motionless?” Matsukawa asks. Shigeru nods.

“They kept saying shit things to me, how I didn’t belong there and how they would destroy my work if they got their hands to it. I kept my head low, trying to ignore them. I am sure they weren’t able to see the magic, because they just didn’t…notice anything. They just focused on me. One of them, his hand shot forward. I looked up because I had no clue what would happen to him. I saw green streaks, like thin lightning strikes where the fist impacted the barrier. It was the same blue-green-ish colour as in the tattoo. It…stayed. Duo-chromatic, and I just heard this hum getting louder and louder as the assholes’ voices got louder too.”

A knock interrupts from the other side. Matsukawa looks over his shoulder, while Shimizu doesn’t. Her eyes are on Kyoutani.

“Alright, enough privilege exploitation, Shimizu-san.”

Shigeru watches a boy his age, his stature, but with more cold air than a winter morning breeze in. He’s dressed in white robes, hints of purple streaked through.

Shimizu smiles. “Shirabu-kun, how funny that you’ve come.”

“Listen, you can have one case. We have two aggressors. If you wish to defend one or all, or team up with uh, what’s your name again?”

Matsukawa had turned to the white wizard walking in, flashing him a smile. “Matsukawa Issei, pleased to meet you.”

“Unshared pleasure, I assure you. If you want to work together, defend together, be my guest. But the application has to go through official channels,” the guy named Shirabu says, looking bored. Shimizu doesn’t turn, the height of disrespect. Shigeru doesn’t know how she does it.

“I told your little pets before, I know the laws better than anyone. Even you. This is clearly a mixed case of non-magical and highly magical properties. I am in my right to know this case, and so is Matsukawa-kun as he’s been explicitly called in to aid Yahaba-kun. You’re interrupting a first meeting between attorneys and your wishful assailants. In all of nature, these two are innocent until proven guilty by our laws.”

Shigeru watches as Shimizu turns her head. And for a blink, he feels as if more heads than just the one she has turn with her. Shirabu takes a step back.

“Now, white mage, _first_ of your generation. Stand there any longer to delay our rights to Hear, and I will have you expelled from any tribe, kinship, circle, and office that you hold. I will not suffer another of your interruptions or more of your uneducated nonsense. Go and attempt your whimsical authority somewhere else.”

Shirabu clearly dislikes the tone and clear intimidation. But he steps outside the door. Shigeru feels another cold wave.

“Fine, do as you please. I didn’t want this case that much anyway.”

The door closes. Matsukawa whistles.

“As scary as in law school. I’m really glad I never took magical classes. You’d be too much for me,” Matsukawa laughs, then winks at Shigeru. “Continue. Tell us exactly what happened next.”

Shigeru looks at Shimizu. Again, he senses more than his eyes should be able to see. It’s as if Shimizu’s head is turned back to him. And a second, ghostly head (or multitudes of them) are still gazing at the door. He shudders a breath, the hand holding his calmly ensuring him that this witch is on his side. Here to help.

When he talks, Shigeru is the one having to grip Kyoutani’s hands and attempt to calm him.

“So, I don’t think they noticed the barrier, and might have been too angry to understand why one of the would-be punches didn’t hit me. I don’t know. They rushed me, and more of the blue-green lightning strikes were there, staying. As they hit the barrier, I watched them connect. I—I can’t be sure, but it looked like they connected, like vines. Soon the pink barrier was more aquamarine. It looked thicker too. It was mesmerizing. Beautiful,” Shigeru says, eyes down to the hand that created the miracle, who inked the tattoo and enabled with a whisper for it to protect.

“Someone at the back, who hadn’t touched the barrier, told them my arm was glowing. I am wearing what you see, and the tattoo was covered with plastic wrap and my sleeve. The bullies took a step back, as one. They looked up and down, but I am sure they didn’t see anything. They murmured what it could be. And then they went away. They ran into the unused, open rooms. Locks are only gotten through the janitors office, if someone has permission to get it. The rooms aren’t locked, otherwise.”

Shigeru takes another shuddering breath. His throat felt thick now.

“I’ll have Shibayama get you some water. Or do you prefer tea?” Shimizu asks, already up.

“He likes coffee, black and nothing else,” Kyoutani tells her.

As they take a small break waiting, Shigeru brushes his knee against Kyoutani’s. He cannot express how thankful he is for Kyoutani to be here. A part of Shigeru is sure he’s only here to save his own hide, too. That part is shushed by everything else in Shigeru that wants and hopes for so much more.

When both tea and coffee is served (and Shigeru notices how Shimizu is also a tea drinker, while Matsukawa opts for an espresso with sugar), Shigeru continues. He drinks the coffee, liking the bitter fluid warming and soothing his throat. It didn’t help with speaking or giving him confidence, however. It was harder now. The absolute beauty of the barrier was a sight to behold, but what happened afterwards had been so bad. Shigeru still shook remembering it.

“They threw art supplies at me. It penetrated the barrier. I duck, and when I looked up I saw the vines. They became darker and darker. The barrier, when I went lower, curled over me. When those shitheads figured that they couldn’t get to me, but anything else would, more and more supplies were thrown. I felt my arm, and it…called out to me. It told me to go low. I don’t know what the voice sounded like,” Shigeru says, staring at Shimizu when he says it. Unblinking.

She smiles back at him, holding her pen. “There really is no need to lie, Yahaba-kun. There’s cameras here, but no audio recorder. What—who was the voice you heard?”

Shigeru looks down, hating how he failed. He looks at Matsukawa. “Please, don’t use this against him.”

Matsukawa has a warmer smile than Shimizu. “Course I won’t. What exactly does he mean?” He asks Shimizu suddenly, confused.

“He heard my voice. I don’t know why…” Kyoutani says, and when Shigeru glances at him, he sees rage upon the skin, tensing the shoulders, pulsating through the arms, making Kyoutani tremble. “I wasn’t there, and I don’t know why but. I know it was my voice. I made the warding spell to protect him. It was meant to not injure anyone, just keep them away. I…I told it to strike if the situation would call for it. Magic needs clear boundaries, but it will seep through if…If the wielder made a mistake.”

Kyoutani looks down to the tattoo, not meeting Shigeru’s questioning glance. “Projectiles. I hadn’t thought of it. I failed you. Part of my magic made up for it. It was telling you what to do so it could…so it could activate its safety fail clause.”

Shigeru looks away before Kyoutani’s eyes glance up. “I made myself as small as I could, trying to shield my head against the supplies thrown at me. I felt so embarrassed and uncool. I didn’t even notice how nothing actually hit me. I just thought… I took a year off after high school, worked so many different side jobs, lived in a crappy apartment outside the city, so that I could afford going to this art school and living close to campus. And there I was, cowering on the floor. Alone and afraid.”

“Did you see what happened to the barrier, after you got down?” Shimizu asks after some beats go by, her voice gentle. Shigeru shakes his head.

“No, not until the three bullies took the fourth and tried to push him through the barrier. I was a ball on the floor, basically, and the barrier had become round-ish too. A dome. Before I knew it, the light green veins became darker. They were brown and dark green, blue-purple where the fourth guy was yelling to be let go. I was so afraid of what would happen. The barrier became smaller, and I thought it was either diminishing or trying to suffocate me. It became smaller because I tried to flatten myself against the wall and the floor. Getting away from them. The bullies surrounded it. It…I felt something from my tattoo, white-hot and angry. Then I noticed that I was angry. I was so pissed off being made to cower like this. There weren’t any projectiles being hurled at me, but I didn’t want to mush them if I stood up.”

“Those fools had wedged themselves between the hard place of your school walls, and an unbreakable barrier,” Matsukawa says, putting his cup on the table. He looks at Shimizu, who asks what they all want and need to know.

“But you stood up, didn’t you?”

Shigeru nods, feeling his face becoming hot again. “Two teachers had come. They were all non-magical and, they told us to stop making such a fuss. They told me to stand up. I couldn’t explain what was happening. My throat closes up when…hard stuff like this comes up. I couldn’t explain and the teachers were so angry seeing all the art supplies on the floor. Some broken. I was afraid they’d blame me, that they would kick me out. I couldn’t show them my tattoos or explain it, because I kept thinking how it’s against the rules to have visible tattoos on campus. I was at such a loss. So I stood up.”

Kyoutani’s second hand covers him now. They’re waiting for Shigeru tell what they all know what happened afterwards.

“When I got up, the barrier just turned into so many colours. It blinded me. It was huge, thick, and it…made me feel safe. I wasn’t worried about getting hurt, despite the ongoings. I got up, and heard the sound of…broken things. It wasn’t the barrier. The warding spell did what it was supposed to do, and kept the bullies away. It crushed them against the wall.”

“They… They screamed and then there was nothing. I think I lost consciousness, but can’t remember. The last I remember was the barrier falling away. It faded, pink dust particles. My tattoo glowed again, light green under my sleeve. I felt that safety return under my skin. But the walls. The walls had those same broken up veins. And the guys who bullied me lay motionless on the floor.”

“It was their fucking fault to even try break it,” Kyoutani grumbles. “How come there are no cameras at that place? The teachers must have seen that you were the one attacked?”

“All they saw was Yahaba-kun standing up, and an invisible force field pushing, then crushing away their beloved rich students,” Shimizu says, her eyes distant. “Yahaba-kun, terrorized and dealing with abuse and unable to speak… You weren’t able to explain anything, right?”

Shigeru shakes his head. “I was a coward.”

“You fucking weren’t,” Kyoutani interrupts him, anger boiling on his tongue. Shigeru isn’t afraid of it, and only gentle shakes his head.

“I was…in shock. Didn’t know what to do, and only felt so stupid and embarrassed. Afraid of what would happen now. I didn’t notice my surroundings, being taken away, nothing. Not until Shibayama-kun showed me the way to the phone, and said I could make one call. He said I could also text, or send an animal with a message. He… He was very nice, and told me I should call someone who could help me, and if I knew a lawyer, it would be my best bet.”

Shimizu smiles. “Shibayama-kun was the one to inform me. He wasn’t able to disclose much of the case to me, not knowing a lot of it himself. He heard you speak Kyoutani’s name, too. You said his name, took the phone, but then spoke to Matsukawa. Shibayama-kun doesn’t know Kyoutani, but he’s heard me speak of KyouKen, my tattoo artist. The little mage was interested in a black cat tattoo, magical attributes to teleport or communicate with his familiar and the like. When he heard Kyoutani, knew of the case being a magical tattoo incident, he connected the dots and messaged me right away.”

Silence falls after Shimizu explains how she got here, why she and Kyoutani had come into Shigeru’s cell at the same time. Shigeru makes a mental note that he owes Shibayama, no matter how this will play out. At this cruel thought, he looks at Matsukawa.

“What will happen now? I don’t want Kyoutani to be prosecuted.”

Matsukawa flashes him an easy grin, one that promises stability and safety. “With Shimizu-san by our side, I am sure we can bust you out. And keep your uh. Keep Kyoutani-kun equally out of jail.”

*

*

The first thing the lawyer-combo managed was to let Shigeru walk out of his cell and out of the police building without having to pay even one yen. Shimizu made a promise to Shirabu, who was assistant junior manager of magic hurting non-magical civilians. It was a promise that couldn’t be broken, and Shimizu would have to do her utmost to keep it; Shigeru was free to leave, but he wasn’t allowed outside the Sendai city borders. He had a court case to keep. Shimizu laughs as they all walk out, telling them not to worry about her.

“Yahaba-kun wants his name cleared and without hurting Kyoutani-kun in the least. I am sure you will stay on the right path. Don’t worry about those bullies or their families. I will take care of them.”

“Shimizu-san, please… Don’t do anything crazy,” Matsukawa pleads, walking to his car. Shimizu shakes her head over her thick black scarf.

“I know what I can and can’t do, and I know how to hide the lesser wanted suggestions. I won’t go to their houses, if you’re scared of that,” Shimizu says, and a bunch of crows caw after her. When Shigeru looks up and around, he finds 50 of them in the bare branches of the surrounding trees. The parking lot near the police station is not crowded. It’s just. Crow-ded.

When he looks back at her, Shimizu’s eyes become all black. She doesn’t open her mouth, and a small vein pops in her forehead. In it, Shigeru sees dark blood flow. The crows flap their wings as one being, cawing as they leap up.

“My little helpers will keep their minds at ease. Whisper false calm, arrogance, and certain victory into the minds. They will not come here or demand Yahaba-kun being locked up again. Nor will they come to find him, or send anyone else,” Shimizu’s voice sounds serene, if a river full of acid could be seen as a serene thing. She smiles wider at the three men, then rejects Matsukawa’s invitation for a ride.

“I don’t need vehicles, sweet Mattsun. Please give my warm greetings to Takahiro-kun,” as she walks away, Shigeru keeps hearing this rustle of crow wings. But the lot is empty of the murder that took off to the skies. He shakes a bit.

Kyoutani had chosen to hold his hand and not let go. He hadn’t said a word after his last outburst. Shigeru had no time to actually analyse the handholding that didn’t seem in any hurry to break apart.

“Come on, I can drive you anywhere you want. Inside city-borders, that is,” Matsukawa says, a smirk on his face when he gets in his car. It doesn’t die when Kyoutani opens the doors, or when the two of them sit in the back without breaking the hold.

“Could you drive to my place? I have to take care of his tattoo.”

“Sure. Remember how they said you can’t tamper with it though. And that invisible chain will know, until Yahaba is proven innocent.”

“Don’t worry. My last mistake was letting these thorns whip and lash out the way I would have wanted to. I just want to put ointment on it and wrap it back up in plastic,” Kyoutani says, looking outside the window. Matsukawa starts the car, says ‘A’right’, and drives off.

*

*

They don’t say anything, sitting on Kyoutani’s kitchen floor, holding tea and coffee from the nearby café. The silence is so heavy that Shigeru could touch it. Matsukawa breaks it, sending one message to Shigeru’s phone. Shigeru looks at it, fear blocking his throat again. He sees the name, but can’t read the preview.

With an upwards flick of his finger, Kyoutani flips the message up, from the phone. A hologram in front of their eyes. And the court date set for tomorrow afternoon, 5 pm.

‘We couldn’t get it any earlier. Sorry.’ The rest of Matsukawa’s message says.

“Tell me what you need,” Kyoutani says, snapping his fingers and making the message disappear. Shigeru doesn’t know how to answer this. He’s so full of fear that it’s hard to think.

“A distraction would be nice, but I don’t think there’s anything able to do that,” Shigeru admits, his shoulders hard. He should have stayed down. Taken the beating, the things hurled at him. The teachers would have found him assaulted, and the odds would have been in his favour. Another side in him says that the kids could have blamed him, bribed those teachers. Maybe the entire school would be bribed against him now.

The thoughts swirl in his head, making his face feel so cold that Kyoutani’s lips on his cheek feel like a burn. As if fire touched him for real, Shigeru backs off.

“Sorry. You seemed very inward. As if thinking about doom scenarios and stupid things like that. Knew this,” Kyoutani taps his mouth, a smug smile tugging at one of the corners, “would shock you back into the here and now.”

Heat still burns Shigeru’s face. It trickles down his throat, erasing all fear and doubt. All worry and pain that gathers between his ribs, leaving only one strong, other feeling there to rule. With a huff, he grabs Kyoutani’s collar and pulls them together, hurling himself against those smug, challenging lips. The kiss is nothing perfect, and all feeling. Hasty lips brush each other as if tasting and taking it easy was not foretold today.

One of Kyoutani’s arms worms itself between the wall they leaned against and snakes behind Shigeru’s back, holding him close. Shigeru wastes a hot breath between their mouths, his hands up to the short bleached hair. There’s not much to ruin, but he tries to anyway, as Kyoutani’s teeth attack his bottom lip.

Neither of them is dumb enough to involve tongues, when lips try their best to be vicious, and teeth are too hungry to let anything else join the fray.

Sitting side by side, leg to leg and arms pulling and stroking away at doubt and fear, Shigeru loses his mind within Kyoutani’s embrace, uncaring for what may happen tomorrow in court. Court, the bullies, and everything else falls into a ravine of uncaring, as Kyoutani keeps him steady on its edge. And even as the kiss slowly loses force and anger, the embrace stays in place.

A gentler hand brushes over Shigeru’s hair, trying to right the wrongs.

“I’ll be there, the whole way. Don’t think I’ll let you end up anywhere else where you don’t belong, now that I…” he doesn’t finish the sentence, and Shigeru hides his face in Kyoutani’s neck, holding on that secure back. “Anyway, I hope that was a good enough distraction. I gotta make dinner now.”

Shigeru’s tattoo tingles. _”And I want you to stay. No more distractions. Just stay where I can see and protect you.”_

“I have an extra futon so, you’re free to stay,” Kyoutani says out loud. Shigeru is slightly nervous at the invitation, but if the kiss was anything to go by, nothing else would happen tonight.

“Sure. Thanks,” Shigeru says, watching Kyoutani open and slam his fridge door multiple times retrieving ingredients and the like. Shigeru feels alright where he is, no haste to get up or look around. He wonders what magic is in place up here, but nothing appears in front of his eyes. Only Kyoutani’s presence, as he cooks and says nothing.

*

*

Shimizu and Matsukawa act as if they’re tag-team fighters. Shimizu bewitches everyone with her vast and compelling knowledge about magic, its workings. She gets the judge to understand how another type of magic had been at play, making Kyoutani’s warding spell so powerful. Without naming it, Shimizu leaves Matsukawa to paint a picture of Shigeru’s life. Even when he hates that Kyoutani hears it like this, Matsukawa stops at nothing to make sure there is not a doubt at how broken, powerless and hard-working Shigeru was and had to be.

The prosecutors have no such flair. Within the laws of mixed cases, lying was not allowed, spells or suggestive behaviour was not allowed. But Shimizu, the only witch here besides Kyoutani, didn’t have to. The judge nodded at every of her words, and his face stayed grim when the other side couldn’t lie about Yahaba.

Judge Nekomata nods sagely. He was an old wizard, Kyoutani had told Shigeru. The fairest judge they could get, according to Shimizu. And Matsukawa had winked at them, letting the two men know that Nekomata was favourable in terms of sexuality, too. It made no sense to Shigeru until Matsukawa brought it into the case, saying how one of the insults concerned Shigeru’s sexuality. For once, Matsukawa doesn’t bring up Shigeru’s bisexuality (which was mostly Shigeru being gay-oriented, but appreciating and loving basically all cute and beautiful women).

In the end, the accusations and blame against Shigeru and Kyoutani were destroyed with ease. Judge Nekomata ruled that neither were to blame. The art school, the parents, and the actual assailants were to be reprimanded.

When the prosecutors threatened more cases, Judge Nekomata stood up. All fell silent.

“If you mistrust it so much…then let’s see what the truth is. Yahaba-kun, please keep your eyes open. Don’t blink, and don’t be afraid,” Nekomata says, lifting his hand. Red and white dust tunnels straight to, and through Shigeru. He blinks once, then keeps his eyes open as the bullying plays out like a film in front of them all. In the middle of the courtroom, from Shigeru’s perspective, his bullies are seen throwing the art supplies, trying to break the barrier using their friend. Other times are also replayed, without Shigeru feeling anything. He keeps his eyes open, allowing Nekomata to project the truth for all to see.

“I think that settles it, proof-wise,” the judge laughs, waving away his magic into nothing. “Yahaba-kun had every right and reason to request a warding spell. It was his attackers’ mistake to push the magical barrier to its limits, and they got what they deserved, rightfully so. Yahaba-kun, Kyoutani-kun, you both are free to go. This so, I rule in my duty as High Judge. Feel free to go out there and create. Case dismissed.”

Kyoutani’s fingers ease in Shigeru’s, as they continued their handholding during the sitting. Relief floods over Shigeru, and he hardly feels Matsukawa’s hand slapping his shoulder. Shimizu nudges Kyoutani to move, and the four of them leave the court and the gaping other side behind. The boys would be expelled for their behaviour, the judge said. For antagonizing magic and trying to pin the blame on the victim, they would also have to leave Miyagi for a couple of years as part of their punishment.

Matsukawa blows out a happy sigh. “That went crazy well. So lucky to get Nekomata, too.”

Shimizu laughs as well. “He’s a White and old wizard. He actually instructed an apprentice of mine, too. I’m supposed to see Hitoka-chan tonight. She will be in shock when I tell her this.”

The two lawyers fall into an easy and friendly talk, moving ahead. Kyoutani, Shigeru notices, looks far away. A bit too far. As they follow the other two outside the courthouse, Shigeru nudges Kyoutani as they walk down the steps. Linking his arm with Kyoutani’s in time to make sure he won’t fall, Shigeru raises his voice a bit as they take the steps downwards.

“Hey, are you okay? You don’t look excited.”

“Hmpf, I’m glad how it turned out. But I failed you. I should have thought of flying objects thrown too. That was so dumb of me,” Kyoutani sighs, then looks to Shigeru. “Let me colour the bee and the gerbera. I can make it work to let any piercing or flying objects and the like be unable to touch you, as well.”

Shigeru blinks, then cannot stop himself from laughing. On the bottom of the stairs, Matsukawa gives him a strange look before his signature smug smile returns. Shimizu looks very fond all of a sudden, serene and sweet.

“I know a bar where we can go, to celebrate,” Matsukawa says, his hands securely in his pockets.

*

*

Shigeru looks around the rowdy bar, feeling a bit out of place. At his unease, Shimizu lifts her hand up, flicks her wrist. Accustomed to near invisible sheens, Shigeru understands the effect of a muted space when their booth receives the solace of more silence. Shimizu and Matsukawa sit on one side, Shigeru and Kyoutani on the other.

He wishes he could buy a beer for Kyoutani for the trouble. Shimizu talks with the waiter that come by, and creates an ongoing tab. Kyoutani, who was hunching forward over the table, leans back into the seat. His elbow knocks with Shigeru’s. Shimizu is more vocal about seeing unrest continue in Shigeru’s person.

“Don’t worry, Yahaba-kun. This bar is run by a friend of mine. We can drink as much as we want, as long as we leave the bar in one piece,” she says, then giggles. “Although the main threat to his own bar is Sugawara himself.”

They clink their beer glasses when the first round comes. Shigeru drinks it, unable to believe he’s actually free and can live a less bothered life from now on. What bothers him right now is how Kyoutani’s arm stays flush against Shigeru’s own, but the rest of him doesn’t connect to Shigeru’s side. Kyoutani doesn’t even look at him. The responses to Matsukawa’s questions and Shimizu’s prompts are all short, if not just a grumbly noise at the back of Kyoutani’s throat.

Something is definitely off with this guy. Even someone like Shigeru, who had a lot going on and had only known this person for a short amount of time, could see this. Shigeru didn’t kid himself in thinking he knew enough to cheer him up or know what was the best thing to alleviate this. So as the two lawyers talked about their relationships, Shigeru leans over his arms on top of the table, and looks at Kyoutani from below.

“Hey, whats up?” He asks, bouncing his knee against Kyoutani’s for good measure.

“Nothin’,” Kyoutani answers, never looking Shigeru in the eye.

“Doesn’t look like ‘nothin’,” Shigeru imitates the low gruffy voice. His knee leashes out against Kyoutani’s again, finally getting his attention.

“Stop that,” Kyoutani says, his eyes suddenly tired-looking. As if he hadn’t slept. Shigeru thinks of last night. He had slept on a futon, and Kyoutani had gone downstairs to sleep on the couch. Shigeru hadn’t known this until the next morning, when a grumbly Kyoutani came upstairs to make breakfast. It was apparently against Kyoutani-family law that guests were ever allowed to help when on a visit. Even troublesome guests such as Shigeru, who only brought problems into Kyoutani’s life.

Maybe that was it. Maybe Kyoutani wasn’t happy to be here, with him. Maybe he had only meant to be friendly, and Shigeru had read the signals all wrong. Wishful thinking—

“I’m no telepath, but I can practically hear you thinking stupid shit,” Kyoutani says, drinking the rest of his beer. “Move, I’m getting another round.”

Kyoutani means to simply bypass Shigeru on the way to the bar. Shigeru gets up alright, but follows him on a whim. It’s probably for the best that Kyoutani doesn’t know how to read Shigeru’s mind; it wasn’t as if there were extremely lewd things going on in his brain at this moment. But as the burden of the trial and bullies have fallen away forgotten, Shigeru’s mind floats more and more to Kyoutani—the way his physical form floats to the other as well.

After Kyoutani orders the round, Shigeru puts down the money. It’s not like he can afford this, but he owes it all the same.

“The hell is this,” Kyoutani grumbles, pushing Shigeru’s bills back to him. “Take it back. You heard what Shimizu said,” Kyoutani says. Shigeru looks to the floor, to the wooden bar and the plethora of shiny drinks on display.

“I do have something like pride though. And I owe you,” Shigeru says one second, and has Kyoutani’s face close to his nose the next.

“You don’t owe me shit. If I wouldn’t have… If I’d been better, I’d—” Kyoutani’s eyes hold Shigeru’s, before he flashes them away. His shoulders are tensing up. Shigeru blinks, his hand drifting to the neck on its own accord. Even as his palm burns rubbing over Kyoutani’s skin, Shigeru can’t pull away. He watches Kyoutani’s eyes stare hard on the wooden bar, where they wait for the beer.

A sense of comfort warms Shigeru’s skin. He feels a bit awkward, comes to stand closer to Kyoutani, allowing his thumb to circle colourful ink popping up past Kyoutani’s collar. Shigeru wasn’t usually this silent, but he feels that physical touches work better on Kyoutani then trying to ask ‘what’s wrong?’

“It’s my fault. My spell, it was too strong. Shimizu figured it too. It’s good the judge didn’t take a closer look.”

“How did it turn out stronger?” Yahaba says, his fingers numbing as he waits for Kyoutani to speak. Those same tired eyes look to him, at once vulnerable and cautious.

“Shimizu said I worked with my heart instead of my brain, and that I uh… wasn’t 100% professional when I worded the spell. The wording was okay, but my own intent of safe-keeping became too strong. Plus that stupid oversight of flying objects…”

The round of four beers appears, and Kyoutani takes two while Shigeru takes the rest. It was a lot to think about, but Shigeru was struck by one thing only.

“Your heart? What’s that got to do with anything,” Shigeru asks, hearing his own words come out more accusatory as necessary. Kyoutani doesn’t turn to his side. Shigeru adds quickly, “I mean, I don’t know much about the work or the… ‘how’ of magic. And I don’t think either of us is truly to blame for how everything turned out. If you have regrets of taking me on as a client, I can kinda get behind that.”

Shigeru looks down at the beers, not wanting to admit it. He has no idea why his body feels so hot, or why Kyoutani creates this sense of allure and want in him.

“…I didn’t say I fucking regretted a thing,” Kyoutani scoffs, as he walks through the sheer barrier Shimizu created. Frowning, not an ounce wiser than when he left, Shigeru follows suit. Clinking their glasses and toasting to magic, Shigeru takes a few heavy sips. When everyone’s glasses are down, Kyoutani is still tanking the beer, like water.

“Woah there, someone’s thirsty,” Matsukawa snickers, his eyes lingering on Shigeru instead. Shigeru ignores the cheeky wink thrown his way. He doesn’t ignore the leg that bounces once against his knee, then decides to stay there glued to him. Shigeru sighs, trying to position himself closer to Kyoutani.

While Shimizu and Matsukawa continue a conversation Shigeru doesn’t hear, Kyoutani leans his head on his arm on top of the table. He seems sleepy from the beer. Shigeru’s hears a gentle hum of energy, a _whom-whom-whom_. It’s impossible to be curious about it now when Kyoutani’s eyes look so softly up to him.

“Magic is and isn’t logic. It’s hard to explain. But those who wield it can add more intent or precise care into the spells, by making conscious choices. Use your brain, keep it clean, stay calm and steady when using magic. That’s the professional approach. Clinical almost. Routine-based. Using one’s stomach or gut, spells can be more powerful, wilder, too. It’s more for fighting or when you need raw bursts of sudden energy. Nothing too technical or too focused. Most of us, all our day to day things, we use magic with our heart. It’s our blood, after all. But it can quickly be unbalanced, too strong or too weak based on one’s heart and one’s intent,” Kyoutani says, his eyes never leaving Shigeru’s face. He readjusts his face on his arm.

“I wanted to protect you from anything and anyone. It wasn’t just me getting paid or doing my job. I genuinely didn’t want anyone to hurt you again. It put too much… emotion in the ward. Personal affection.”

The leg below the table pushes against Shigeru, who holds very still. “I see.”

“Do you?”

Shigeru sips his beer, nods more to himself than in response. When he looks up, he finds the booth separated in half; glass runs from above, down through the table. It looks split in two. Through the glass, Shigeru can faintly see the colours and outline of the lawyers. To his left, the muting barrier appears thicker, the bar on the other side less visible. As if Shigeru forgot his contacts this morning.

The same hand that touched Kyoutani’s neck now snakes under his clothes, caressing the lower back. Kyoutani’s lids become heavier under the gentle caress.

When Shigeru leans down, following his base want, Kyoutani moves up to meet him for the kiss. His arms loop once around Shigeru’s back, the other goes up to the hair. The kiss is nothing fanciful or deep, just another press of mouths that don’t demand nor give too much. Kyoutani’s eyes stay closed as he puts his forehead against Shigeru’s, whose throat is dry and warm as he answers.

“Yeah, I think I do.”

Kyoutani had kissed him first. And must have waited for Shigeru to show more signs of acceptance than what a terrified Shigeru had been able to yesterday. He can only hope he wasn’t too late. Not wanting to take any chances, Shigeru retrieves his hand from under Kyoutani’s clothes.

“I never saw much of your own tattoos.” Shigeru knows he’s blushing as he looks down to Kyoutani’s shoulder. He takes the high and mighty snort in stride.

“’Could show you,” Kyoutani says, right on top of Shigeru’s lips, all smoke and fire and nothing hidden. Shigeru quickly takes his beer and finishes his own and Kyoutani’s, too. He slams the glasses down one after the other, feeling every sort of heat build. When he looks to Kyoutani, that same fire greets him; hell-fire, home to a hell-found like Kyoutani himself. Nothing feels wrong when Shigeru gulps down any cons.

"Yes," he says, holding Kyoutani's gaze as the smile widens.

They leave the bar together, and Shigeru feels no fear. His mind knows peace from worry, and the only thing he worries about lessens when Kyoutani holds his hand. Shigeru hates walking into the great unknown, the same feeling he had when he went into Kyoutani's store. But so much had happened in a short amount of time that showed him he can deal with this. That he can deal with Kyoutani, in any form he will show Shigeru. Gripping Kyoutani's hand more tightly, Shigeru breathes out in the evening air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO!! Surprise!! Well, its not a surprise that I absolutely read the 'no nsfw content allowed in this SS' rule and then completely forgot it... I think I'm always super aware of how popular it is, and I joined an nsfw hq!! server on discord and just??? felt this need to add it!? That same server also managed to drop Monk's side twit with uhhh nsfw content and I was like 'oh hell yeah'.
> 
> THEN THE VERY SAME SERVER also reminded me how our mod made this 'no ero' decision and I was like 'whoopsie!!'  
> SO MONK & ESTEEMED READERS!! This fic will have a smut only sequel :D I will everything in a series because I wanna revisit this universe (maybe with matsuhana??? white witch Hanamaki LETS GO).
> 
> Anyway I hope this was an enjoyable read~~!


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